


Multi-dimensional Terrorist Occupation

by Ellesra



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Pacific Rim (2013), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellesra/pseuds/Ellesra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Infiltrating a Shatterdome really should have been harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Multi-dimensional Terrorist Occupation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mtorolite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtorolite/gifts).



> _How does SHIELD respond when giant freaking monsters start climbing out of the ocean and they're a bit too big even for Thor? I'd love some of Phil organizing the various members of the Avengers and other supers (bonus points for Deadpool) into Kaiju strike teams and Jaeger crews._
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> I am very sorry that this isn't more Coulson-oriented. Sometimes you just have to follow your inspiration even if it leads you in a very strange direction.

Even though it was morning, Sam Wilson was already in the middle of his day. The _Diablo Intercept_ had been assigned patrol that night, and even though they lived underground, he could still feel the toll of the skewed sleeping schedule. Surely a shower would help, he reasoned as he made his way to the shared bathrooms. Stepping inside the men's locker room, the air was warm and humid, meaning someone was already in the showers. In the background, he could hear the rumbling sound of the water pump working furiously to supply the dome. 

“Hey, you the new pilot?” Through the mist created by the showers, Sam Wilson could just barely realize the unfamiliar shape. Usually, only Jaegers used these showers, so this must be one of the long-awaited new guys. The Canadian Jaeger _Chrome Brutus_ had arrived months ago, and seeing it had not been all that badly damaged, it should have been out and running long ago. 

When the guy stepped closer, Sam’s conviction faltered a bit. The man was wearing a mask, even though he was stepping _out_ of the shower stall, and his skin was marred by scars, like his whole body had been boiled at some point. 

The guy grinned at him, showing off a row that could perhaps be straight if you looked at him from a five meter distance in bad lighting, before he covered his jaw with the red fabric. 

“Nah man, just visiting,” he answered, loosening the towel to instead drape it across his shoulders. Sam directed his eyes elsewhere, and stepped behind a shower curtain to escape the rather awkward situation he found himself in. The guy must be one of the pilots’... Lovers, then. Though he couldn’t for the life of him figure whose. 

The sound of the shower drowned out any conversation they might have had, the water pump a deafening thing to bear. Though the water was pleasantly warm, most people found the noise too loud to properly lose themselves in the showering. Sam was efficient in his cleaning rituals, and stepped out of the showers again not five minutes later. The stranger was gone, thank the gods. 

It was a while before he and Clint were scheduled to head out again. Sam looked at himself in the foggy mirror, tensing his muscles the tiniest bit as he did so. It wasn’t that he was admiring himself. Or his own muscles. Nothing wrong with knowing your own anatomy, and all that.

Maybe some other Jaeger-pilot, or perhaps an agent, would be willing to work out with him for a bit after breakfast. It had been days since his muscles had done anything other than pilot a Jaeger, after all.

\---

Meetings between Natasha and him had been rather awkward, ever since she had been assigned the Matador Fury and he hadn’t. If it had been simply a matter of politics, or perhaps just some bastard with too much money and pride, it would have been acceptable. Not great, certainly, not without the slightest bit of bitterness, but he would have dealt. It was how most organizations worked, and Clint Barton was not an idealist by far.

No, it was all about drift compatibility.

Clint knew he wasn’t the only partner Natasha had ever had, and certainly not the only guy she’d ever fucked, but he might have been one of the few she hadn’t done simply on orders. They weren’t in love, but they were close, and yet some brat they hadn’t even known beforehand was more on her wavelength.

The guy had a partner beforehand, his brother even, so why steal his?

He huffed, and started another onslaught to the battered punching-bag before him.

Then again, it had worked out. Clint had a partner, one who was fairly compatible with him when it came to fighting. They got along fine, even if Clint was the type who thinks the ends justify the means, while his partner's a straight shot at best. Even though Sam was former military, he seemed to have a very lacking mind for sacrificing certain things for a result.

Natasha’s new partner, meanwhile, seemed to be the complete opposite of self-sacrificing. If he thought his life in danger, Clint had no doubt the guy would just as well leave Natasha and SHIELD to the kaiju.

She deserved better, and while that person might not be Clint, it sure wasn’t Loki either.

\---

Most of the time, Loki would take lacking security as a blessing. More often than not, he was the one who utilized such flaws, after all. Now, however, he regretted every decision he had ever made, in particular the one where he hadn’t mentioned to Fury how easy it would be to get through the import entrance.

He wasn’t all that sure how this pan-rotted imbecile had managed to exploit the opportunity, but this guy was certainly taking the whole arm at the moment. Sprawled across Loki’s bed, naked except for boxers and a bra. Why such a beefy guy would even wear a bra, he didn’t even bother figuring out. More pressing, really, was how in Satan’s fiery garters was he going to get this intruder out of there?

“If you would kindly leave my room, I won’t have to call the guards on you,” he attempted, though he knew it to be futile the moment a grin was directed his way.

“But I was so comfortable!”

The guy’s voice had a low, rough pitch, not very surprising considering how he was built. Loki was sure his immediate dislike was only partly because of the striking similarity to his brother.

Except that this guy wore a mask, and was more scarred than Germany after World War II.

“I’m sure we can come to some sorta understanding about bedspace, Loki-chan,” which immediately cut every shred of resemblance short. The thought about sharing his bed with this guy made his mouth curl downward, more instinct than anything, he was sure.

“Of course not, that would be improper for such a gentle flower as myself,” the intruder exclaimed.

Gods be good, this man was clearly insane.

“Yet you seem to feel that lying in some stranger's bed is appropriate,” he drawled, ready to step back out that door at any moment’s notice. 

The shrug he received in return gave him no more hints to _what the fuck this person was doing in his bed_. 

“Well we have met on several occasions, though this Matrix theme might make that a bit hard for you to remember-”

“Who are you?” It seemed the time had come to be blunt. Knowing how much information you can extract from a person is always prudent before you let other people take over, after all.

“Deadpool, at your service. And may I say, you look absolutely _dashing_ today, Mister Odinson,” the guy intoned, somehow managing to visibly wiggle his brows through the mask. Those white spots that counted for eyes were very expressive, considering.

Then again, none of Loki’s three names were or had ever been Odinson, so at the very least this guy didn’t know him as well as he thought he did.

Thank everything that's holy for that small blessing.

“Unless you are ready to kneel on the floor and lick my boots, I would suggest you get out of here,” Loki offered dryly, one last attempt at making this confrontation an easy one for both sides.

Seeing only another movement of the brows, he muttered off a “suit yourself” before he walked out of the room.

When he came back, several guards in tow, the guy was gone.

He had even started looking forward to the commotion. What a disappointing turn of events.

Oh well, he guessed he would see Deadpool again, sooner rather than later.

\---

Bones aching, head hurting like a bitch, Natasha Romanoff made her way to her superior’s office. The exhaustion wouldn’t be bad, really, if she was assured more than three hours of sleep before she had to head out again. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to Loki’s knowing smile once they met up, ready to patrol the seas. Natasha was one of the few Jaegers who also worked as an agent on the side, and she wasn’t going to give that up just because of her full schedule.

She lifted her hand to knock as she reached a heavy steel door, one of the many scattered down the corridor. It was open, which meant she was expected to go straight in. Once she entered, she could see Phil Coulson by his desk, three computer screens behind him tinting the room a pale blue.

“Agent Romanoff,” Agent Coulson greeted, looking up at her briefly as she went to stand before his desk, “I see you have completed the mission. Report.” His gaze went back to his phone, as he typed rapidly on the touch-screen.

“The target has acquiesced to handing over the blueprints you requested, without too much persuasion,” she started. Natasha continued by recounting the mission in detail, mentioning any part that might have a chance to influence their operations.

She finished the report by bringing up a potential new supplier. Coulson was silent for a moment, his nodding trailing off into stillness as he stared down on the screen thoughtfully. Then his gaze turned her way, and Natasha stood at attention once more.

“We have a new prisoner,” he spoke, brow furrowing as he did so. “We haven’t gotten much sense out of him. I’d like for you to persuade him, find out how many he works with and whether they have any planned coops on the dome,” he ordered.

“Agent Hill can give you a recount of what we know of the intruder. I have heard he seems rather… Unstable.” They shared a short smile, the reference lost on neither. They had a professional friendship, and with so many shared missions there was plenty of inside jokes to go by. 

“Alright, dismissed,” he smiled at her, the kind of smile that would give him the reputation of a goodnatured uncle, not a proficient spy. Which, in turn, made him such a terrifying enemy.

With a nod, Natasha strode down the corridor, ready to do what she was best at.

\---

Usually, he had nothing to do with the SHIELD-faction of the Lima Shatterdome. Steve Rogers was a pilot, and little suited to the subtle work as a spy.

Now, however, he found himself assigned to watch Natasha make short work of the intruder that had been apprehended earlier that day.

She stood alone in the interrogation room, awaiting the agents who would bring the subject. Steve had heard the title “Red Skull”, but he had also overheard a conversation between their scientists about alternate names for him. Mostly, he found such a practice rather childish.

He watched as they brought the guy, and almost felt sorry for him when Natasha started on the interrogation. When “Red Skull” proved unaffected by her approach, she turned a whole ‘nother kind of scary. 

If Steve ever became an enemy of SHIELD, he hoped for Heaven’s sake Natasha was on his side. Being on her bad side was something he dreaded with a passion. Though he feared it would happen someday, with their conflicting views on the world and their shared work as pilots.

“So, what does he want?” Steve moved his gaze to see Clint stepping into the room.

“She hasn’t been able to get much out of him. Seems he’s here to steal some weapons of some kind,” he admitted, though that hardly seemed to be the whole truth of it. 

“Doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would come here just for a couple machine guns,” Clint commented dryly. 

“Neither did the last fanatic,” Steve replied, his sight back on the victim of Romanoff’s interrogation skills.

“Well then again, he wasn’t really after the guns either. I guess he just grabbed them as an afterthought when he couldn’t get inside the Jaeger.”

With a scoff, Steve resumed listening in on the interrogation. It had gotten to the point where threats were viable. The guy seemed way too smug for comfort.

“You know what, you’re right, someone should definitely put a hole in that redneck,” another voice said to his left. Steve turned around to see who said it, but had to jump aside when the figure charged towards him. The door was shouldered open, even though it had been unlocked to begin with, and then a shot sounded before Steve even had the chance to tackle the newcomer.

It was another guy in a mask. How original.

Steve expected to meet a certain amount of resistance when he tackled the guy, but instead his elbows met the floor rather harshly as the intruder just flopped down.

“Hey Cap, I knew we have some unresolved tension and all, but this is probably not the time to get cuddly,” the stranger said, way too familiarly to make sense. Steve had never seen the guy before, at least not as far as he could remember.

As he turned the intruder around, restraining him, he heard Natasha reporting calmly in the background. It seemed “Red Skull” had died instantly, and that the masked guy underneath him was a lot more proficient with a gun than he seemed at first glance.

Then again, he was built like a brick shithouse, like Tony might say, and Steve had no doubt he at least had _some_ kind of professional training.

“Oh right, that is maybe a thing I’d want to do,” the guy said, almost like an afterthought, before he suddenly twisted in Steve’s grip. He heard something snap, but the guy ventured on unhindered, getting up with a jump. A punch was aimed at his masked jaw, but he dodged, instead crouching down and lifting himself up to headbutt Steve in the jaw. The action took him unawares, and the intruder followed up with a kick.

It all resulted in him barely avoiding getting shoved at Natasha. However, in the time it took him to correct his course and regain his balance, the red and black-clad guy was already dashing out the door. Smoke spread a moment later, accompanied by the sound of struggle. As Steve arrived at the door, Clint only barely managed to avoid a firearm to the face. Not a bullet, mind you; the guy was using the thing more as a club than anything.

Clint coughed, and the intruder used that chance to deliver another well-placed kick. Steve was quite sure Clint would be wearing a cup, but he still bent over, attempting to protect himself. Thus the guy ran out the next door, expressing farewell with a cheeky wave.

Steve gave chase.

\---

For a moment, Thor wondered why he had woken. The heaviness in his head was the kind only a severe lack of sleep caused, and it was clear that he wouldn’t have woken by his own will less than 14 hours later.

Then the walls shook, and he was on his feet in a second, looking around wildly. The sound that followed was far off, more the sound of the vibration than the actual sound of whatever had caused it.

Seeing as even the Jaegers taking off wouldn’t shake the base like that, it had to be something huge.

Immediately, Thor flailed around looking for usable clothing. He would have taken yesterday’s clothes, if they weren’t still wet from the accidental shower he’d endured. Of course, he’d left them in a bundle, meaning they were still drenched. He did make an attempt either way, but when they dripped as he picked them up, he dropped them back in the pile. Instead, he perused the pile he had gathered on a chair, putting on the first pants that met his search.

147 seconds later, he managed to get his boots onto the right feet, and ran into the hall. A few people were running by, but he was unable to determine if they were running away from the commotion, or towards it.

“Excuse me, what is going on?” he asked gruffly as he added one of the lab interns. His wide eyes shone with a panic that boded badly for the state of the base, for sure.

“There’s a terrorist attacking the base! He has a lot of weapons and bombs, a-and he’s in the docking station!” His eyes flicked in the mentioned section’s direction, before they went to Thor’s hand, which was holding his jacket in a clenched fist. Thor let go of the guy, and the intern almost fled right then and there. “If- if that’s all, sir!”

Thor nodded, and strode down the crowded corridor. If there was a fight, he sure wasn’t missing it!

\---

[Why does Cap never love us.]

Briefly, he stopped to think about it. It _might_ have something to do with his work, Deadpool pondered, as bullets ricocheted off the steel wall he was leaning against. Currently, he had taken cover behind a supply of armoured boxes, which the agents, strangely, weren’t aiming towards.

 

[He should be used to that by now!]

Deadpool glanced over to where an agent was attempting to sneak closer. He fired a shot at the ground before her feet, just to keep her on her toes. She shot back, and managed to hit him in the shoulder.

“Nice shot!” he commented, and the nicest of the boxes gave its agreement. 

[That’s really rude. Playing favourites and all.]

Looking down at his hands, and what he held in them, Deadpool considered his options. He’d done his job, and it didn’t seem like the Avenging Gang wanted him to stay for tea, so he should probably go out of there.

In each hand he held a fire grenade and a machine gun, respectively. The choice was hard, the struggle real.

Before he laughed, because really, why choose?

He lobbed the grenade in the direction of some probably-really-advanced machinery. There was a scream or two, some calling for a medical team, but hey, sometimes there had to be sacrifices in the name of the greater good.

[Or the greater payment.]

Then he was running, through the flames, vaulting over a box-like structure with a whole lot of fancy-looking buttons, underneath a truck-lift and around a whole bunch of very thick wires, leading into-

“Fuck yeah,” he agreed wholeheartedly, as he felt an acquired wound in his leg start closing up. Even so, the robot didn’t have a head, and he just had to conclude that it was broken. A shame, because riding that thing out of there would have been just the kind of awesome required for a mission like this. Instead, he ran towards the docking pad, which had stayed halfway open after he’d kind of exploded one of the many rooms with a lot of buttons and levers.

[They probably didn’t even need it.] The box entered his vision just as he jumped into the opening.

Blackness surrounded him, and he fell a really long fucking way.

Too bad he didn’t die.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun-fact! The Matador Fury was named after Fury, cus he saves some kinda important people in Mexico. The more you know.


End file.
